Joker One-Shots
by LuckySlytherin20
Summary: One-Shots about Joker. some of them might be connected. idk
1. What Did I Do!

"You've gone too far this time!" Batman shouted while he was chasing the Clown Prince of Crime on the rooftops of Gotham city. Rain soaked even more his suit making him heavier and slower in the movements. But that didn't matter. He had to get to him. He had to.

During the night, Bruce had been awakened with a start by his adoptive son, Tim, he was panicking. The boy had his black hair all over his forehead and his eyes were bloodshot like he had seen a ghost or something. Bruce, really, didn't want to get up. It was two in the freaking morning!

But Tim had practically dragged him out of bed, down the stairs, and he found himself, groggy as he was, in the living room of his huge house, on his couch. Some minutes later, Alfred came too and sat beside him watching the Gotham news.

Bruce had been shocked by what he saw. Apparently the Joker had escaped from Arkham, again, and he was spreading chaos in his beloved city. Then he had barricaded himself into an hospital and blown it up.

Bruce had left like lightning, squeezing himself in his suit like he did every night and put the mask on.

This time wasn't like any other night, though. Joker had always been trying to make his life hell. He had some pervert attraction to Gotham's Vigilante. But not this time. It was all different. Something was wrong in the Clown's behavior. And, if Bruce had paid more attention to it, maybe, all this mess wouldn't have happened.

Now he was running, almost flying, on the rooftops. He was chasing the lunatic. He had seen him, for just a second, before. He looked like he had been brutally tortured. Evidently, he had gone through hell, caged in Arkham. But this was very well known. The guards abused the patients. And their favorite target was the Joker, everyone knew it. This was because he never screamed. He laughed. He seemed to be immune to pain. But Bruce knew better of it. He knew the clown felt it. But he always kept laughing, not realizing how dangerous his condition was or how he put himself and others in danger.

Bruce saw his green hair on one of the roofs and ran to it, trying to reach him as fast as he could.

"Joker!"

Laughter could be heard in the background. His laughter. Bruce always thought that the Joker faked his condition. Just to avoid to be indicted. But then he understood. That Clown was really sick. And he needed so much help. And Bruce was pretty sure that, with all those punishments in Arkham, he couldn't get better. He tried to get the guards, who abused the prisoners, fired. But often happened that, a lot of them, weren't so silly to get themselves be caught by the vigilante. He also knew that some of them abused the prisoners sexually. Often by admission of the sick themselves. Bruce believed them. He had caught one doing it and had him arrested immediately.

Despite this, Joker seemed to be okay. He never said anything. He never had complained about the punishments. And, even if he suffered something else, he never acknowledged it. Every time Bruce met him, he always smiled. Every single time.

"Joker!" He shouted. His voice was hoarse. His body weak. His ears rang. More laughter, mitigated by the roar of the thunders that lighted the grayish sky of the night.

And then, finally, he reached him. He landed on one of the many roofs, and barely stood. But he held on.

The Clown was kneeling on the ground, on the edge of the roof. He was looking down. Towards the abyss.

Batman approached him immediately, standing alongside him on the edge. Joker didn't turn around. "Batsy." He said. His voice coming out a broken whisper. His eyes were unfocused. Bruce was worried. He never saw the Clown in that state. Now that he was near him, he could see the extent of his injuries.

His pale face was a set of bruises and cuts. His cheeks almost sank in on themselves, sign that they didn't give him enough food in the hospital. Or, they gave it to him, but he didn't eat. He was thinner than usual.

"Did you miss me?" Asked Joker. He looked away from the void and a pair of bright green eyes met the blue one on Gotham's protector. As soon as he saw them, Bruce's blood froze in his veins. Joker's face was wet and his eyes were watery, red and puffy. Bruce couldn't understand if those that lined his cheeks were tears, rain or a mix of the two.

"You have been in Arkham. For all this time." He answered. His voice expressionless as always.

Joker smiled. "I'll take it as a yes." His voice still a whisper. Watching him in the eyes still. "Will you miss me?"

Bruce couldn't see where the clown wanted to go with all those questions, but he answered anyway. "You've killed more than fifty people tonight." Bruce's voice now was full of grief, almost a snarl.

The Joker turned around and continued, watching the void. "Really?" he asked with a dreamy look on his face. "I thought more. But, actually, I did them a favor." He said. But stopped trying to restrain his uncontrollable laughter. "You know? Most of those patients were terminal. I know it. I read the files." Again he started laughing. Hunching over from the pain in his chest, in his ribs.

Bruce, in a fit of wrath, grabbed him from the collar of Arkham's uniform and pulled him up. Joker kept on laughing, taking hold of Batman's so much stronger wrists which held him above the floor.

Bruce started hitting him, hard. He was blinded by hatred. It was easier to think like those ruthless guards. The Joker brought it on himself. But he kept on laughing, almost not realizing he couldn't breathe. Bruce came to a stop just some time later the lunatic had stopped laughing. He had stopped breathing.

"Joker?"

Nothing. He waited for some seconds, watching as blood seeped down slowly from the man's mouth and nose. Bruce shook him, placing a finger under his nose, checking if he was still breathing. He wasn't.

"Joker!"

Still nothing. The lunatic was lying on the ground, with his face and his chest full of contusions and bruises. Bruce shook him one more time. He placed then two fingers on his white, wet neck waiting for a pulse. There was none.

What did I do?!

Panic started getting hold of his body, making him sank on the floor, making him dizzy.

He had to do something.

Anything.

Now.

And he started CPR.


	2. Wake Up

Bruce had no longer seen the Clown after that day, not once. It's been weeks, months, but there had been no news from Joker. It was like he was gone. Batman had brought him to Arkham after he had escaped for the hundredth time from the hospital—jail and he had then left him with some of the guards. They then brought him weight inside.

He heard nothing more after that. And that was good. If the Clown didn't escape the asylum then he couldn't spread chaos in Gotham. But Bruce had brought him in with a concussion (his fault) and a gun shoot wound in his chest (not his fault) which was bleeding profusely. Plus, he'd left behind a pretty puddle of blood in his Batmobile and also during their all way to the asylum by feet. Obviously, Bruce had to carry him bridal style because, after a while, Joker barely could stand on his own from the concussion and blood loss.

Once assured that the Clown was inside, Batman simply had left, returning to his Batmobile. But now he was heading to the penitentiary to make sure it was all in order.

When he arrived at Joker's cell, there was coming no noise from it. Bruce couldn't hear anything. Usually, when he came to check, he could always hear Joker's laughter, even from the outside. But not this time. He had scanned the cell, and he knew there was someone inside. He opened the cell without too much problems and he got in. After some time, his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and then he saw him.

A trembling figure was slumped to the ground, under the little window, his back to the door Batman had entered.

He recognized him instantly when he saw his shining green locks. The Vigilante of Gotham approached cautiously the figure and, after no reaction from it, he kneeled beside him and laid a hand on the tiny shoulder and turned him around. Joker didn't wake up, at least this is what Bruce thought, and he took him in his arms and brought to the bed, placing him above the blankets.

"Y-y... yo-y-you... c-c-ca... c-came..." The Clown's voice was just a whisper, so soft it would have been missed had Bruce not been right there, right beside him. "B-BBats-sy..." his green hair where on his forehead and on his eyes, making difficult for him to see. Even if his sight was already blurry.

"Shh. Stop talking." Bruce took off his glove and brushed away the green hair from Joker's forehead and eyes. As soon as he touched him, he jerked back as if hurt. Joker was so hot and sweaty. Joker was watching, with half closed green eyes, Bruce's hand. He didn't think he'd ever seen him without his gloves before. He couldn't take his eyes off of it. Now that he didn't wear his glove, that hand seemed so lees menacing than usual.

"Oh... t-they d-d-don't k-know... y-you're h... here?" Joker asked closing his eyes and relaxing under the cool touch of Bruce's hand on his forehead. He was so hot. Everything hurt.

He didn't feel good. he didn't feel good at all. He was so very, very tired.

Then Bruce saw it. A large red spot. He turned around, to the point where previously the Clown had been lying on the ground, there was the same red spot, just bigger. He turned around again. "Don't they cure you in here?" Bruce asked, lifting the straitjacket and examining the lunatic's chest. It was the same gun shoot wound of months ago. From what he was seeing now, they had just removed the bullets and cleaned badly the wound. They hadn't bothered sewing it, neither bandage him. Now they were infected and Joker, from what Bruce was now seeing, was delirious and a little too hot for his tastes.

"W-why sh-sh... should t-they?" Joker's voice now was fainter than before and Bruce could see the Clown was at moments from losing consciousness.

Bruce ignored the lunatic's question and readjusted his glove on his hand. Then he tossed away the straightjacket and took the thin wrists of the Clown, pulling him up from his back in to a sitting position on the bed.

Joker felt dizzy for a moment, his head spun and he couldn't distinguish up from down. As soon as he sat up, he couldn't see from the pain and felt sick. Bruce reacted quickly and pushed the Clown's head over the edge of the bed, allowing him to free himself from the troublesome feeling that oppressed his stomach.

Once calmed, Bruce lifted him up again. Supporting him with an arm around his back, hand cupping over his bony shoulder, tears having pooled, inadvertent from his eyes, slipping down his cheeks. His head flopped down but Bruce made him lay on his shoulder for support. Then his other arm slipped under the lunatic's legs and finally, he managed to take him in his arms.

"B-BBatsy...?" Joker had woken up again. His view blurred and he was so hot. "... I... I c-can't stop sh-sh... shaking..." he said sounding confused. Bruce hurried, exiting the asylum and, with Joker in his arms, ran towards the Batmobile.

"Bat-tsy...?" Joker asked again.

Bruce positioned him on the passenger's seat and answered. "I know." He said rounding the car and getting in himself. "Your body is in shook from infection. You've got a fever. Don't worry. You're going to be okay soon." Answered Bruce, he was worried, turning on the car and started driving.

Joker stayed silent for some minutes. Bruce thought he had fallen asleep, losing the battle with the body. But then he spoke. "I'm n-n... not w-worried... I-I ju-j... just can't c-c-control it..." Bruce looked at him for a moment, then saw the lunatic's eyelids closing fully. The brilliant mind had lost his battle against the exhausted body.

Bruce kept on driving. He always thought he would like it if the Clown had never spoken again. But that silence was weird. It was empty. He didn't like it.

From that moment he understood, he preferred his nonsense babbling instead of that surreal silence.


End file.
